


Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Adult Content, Drift Bond, Drift Compatibility, Drift Side Effects, Explicit Sexual Content, Hotness, In which Hermann lets loose and Newton makes an oopies, Kaiju made them do it - sorta, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Newton finds Hermann's sudden slip into sexual deviancy stupidly hot but mostly really badly timed, Post-Drift, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, newmann - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann had been wearing his every other Friday sweater on a Thursday, he hadn't slept in twenty-four hours and the whole thing had been weirding him out way too much to focus. He can multi-task – obviously, but asking him to do that after three cups of coffee, a possible sweater vest conspiracy, no sleep and an entire box of chocolate covered donuts is a bit of a stretch...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Pacific Rim or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This is my first Pacific Rim story, so I am pretty much testing the waters. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading/watching any other source material other than the movie itself. So, in respect to that, this story is based on the material we have been given during the movie and the movie alone.
> 
> Warnings: This story is meant to fit in post movie. *Contains: adult language, adult content, possible consent issues, sexual content, movie spoilers, smut and more!

He would like to preface this whole clusterfuck by saying that this was _so_ not his fault. It was an accident. _Really._

Hermann had been wearing his every other Friday sweater on a Thursday, he hadn't slept in twenty-four hours and the whole thing had been weirding him out way too much to focus. He can multi-task – _obviously_ , but asking him to do that after three cups of coffee, a possible sweater vest conspiracy, no sleep and an entire box of chocolate covered donuts is a bit of a stretch – even for him.

In fact, if you wanted to get picky, this was actually all Hermann's fault. Technically.

Okay, so maybe that's a bit of a stretch, but hey, rockstar, remember?

It wasn't like he _knew_ this was going to happen. In his defence, this wasn't some grand conspiracy to get Hermann Gottlieb freaky and naked. He was a genius, not a frickin' fortune teller.

He didn't _mean_ for things to go all pear-shaped any more than he'd meant for his lab partner to get a mouthful of bright purple goo and turn into a hybridized version of the Incredible Hulk and Pepe 'le Pew all mushed together into one, rather unstable, yet mind-numbingly hot package.

Not that he hadn't enjoyed it and all, but _christ_ on a-

Okay, so, maybe he was getting a little bit ahead of himself here.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three weeks since they'd sealed the breach. Three weeks since he and Hermann had scrambled their neurons in the name of science, danced circles around the Kaiju overlords (or whatever the hell they actually called themselves other than the douche canoes of the known universe) and helped save the world. Three weeks since they'd lost Striker Eureka, Crimson Typhoon and Cherno Alpha. Three weeks since the world  _hadn't_ ended - three weeks to the day, actually.

And if he was being completely honest, the past twenty-something days had been both the best  _and_  worst of his entire life.

It was weird coming to terms with the fact that the world wasn't going to end and even weirder when you stopped to consider the fact that it was  _you_ who had helped make sure of it. He kept waiting for the feeling to fade, but so far it hadn't.

And that was a good thing.

He thinks.

Life since Operation Pitfall had been  _good_ , because in a unanimous decision, the various governments around the world decided to do a complete turnaround on the Jaeger project and now they were getting funding up the ass. They had it all, the fancy new toys, the annoying minions with questionable master's degrees, the new Kaiju samples, the TV guest spots.

For the first time in his life everything really seemed to be coming together.

Hell, for perspective, to Hermann's _great_  pleasure, articles were being published on them and their accomplishments by some of the foremost names in their respective fields (other than themselves, of course) every other week. And to  _his_ excitement, it seemed as though every media personality, every politician and rock star wannabe wanted an interview, a sound bite or a surprise lecture at some far flung academy that handed out greenbacks instead of toilet paper whenever you needed to take a shit.

And, did he mention got an entire aircraft carrier of new Kaiju samples?! Because he did and it was  _awesome_. He was so far into his happy place he was halfway convinced that reality was for chumps.

On the other hand, life had also been kinda lame because, other than the fact that they'd lost a lot of good people and half of Hong Kong had been reduced to a pile of twisted metal, as selfish as it sounded, he just couldn't shake the fact that it was all static up in his head-space.

He could feel Hermann up in there, in the drift, in their  _connection._ The man was caught up in his brain like the back wash from some all-encompassing cosmic entity and honestly, he still wasn't used to it. He wasn't used to having another person sharing his brain, he wasn't used to thinking in colors – thinking in  _equations_ when all he really wanted to do was dissect a particularly sweet Kaiju spleen – or – you know – take a dump in peace or whatever.

He wasn't used to seizing in place in the middle of brushing his teeth, doubling over as his leg  _throbbed_. He wasn't  _used_  to nearly toppling over in the chow line as a pulse of warmth radiated from the web of strands that marked where their brains were connected. Knowing without having to ask that the man had simply remembered something amusing and had let his thoughts get away from him. The intimacy of even the simplest things, when shared by two, was almost staggering.

Hell, sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night thinking he  _was_  Hermann.

But other than that?  _Nothing_.

Nadda.

_Zip._

And embarrassingly enough, he not so secretly _hated_  it.

Because the only thing worse than having Hermann stuck in his head was having Hermann stuck in his head and  _not_ talking to him.

It'd taken him about two days to figure out that Hermann was avoiding him. At first it seemed as though everything was fine. They'd both been about five seconds away from crashing – running off adrenaline, stimulants, booze and far too much coffee by the time they'd finally managed to pull themselves away from the victory celebrations.

They'd made a lot of noise about heading back to the lab to tie up a few loose ends. But in reality, despite their best intentions, when he'd nudged Hermann towards the crew quarters instead, the man hadn't even uttered so much as a mewl of protest.

He was pretty sure they hadn't even thought about it when they ended up crashing on Hermann's bed, fully clothed and completely uncaring about anything else other than that they both needed to sleep the sleep of the dead if they ever wanted to function again.

It'd seemed all but par for the course when he'd grabbed the man by the collar, towing him inside after he'd jimmied the lock and let himself in. He'd left Herman speechless and deliciously ruffled in the doorjamb as he'd loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. The man hadn't been long to follow.

And if Hermann had lost his cane somewhere in between the door and the bed and had been leaning more heavily on him because of it, he certainly hadn't registered it.

It hadn't mattered that this  _wasn't_ them. It didn't matter that they'd never done anything like this before, or that Hermann snored, or that they  _might_  have accidentally woke up spooning. It hadn't mattered because despite it being a thousand different levels of  _wrong_ , it was also undeniably  _right_  at the same time.

And perhaps, in the end, that was what it all came down too. That big, fat realization that was about as subtle as a Category Four Kaiju steamrolling through suburbia.  _Honestly, he knew how the man felt._

You couldn't hide anything in the drift. Everyone knew that.

But hell, if Hermann wasn't giving it the old British try, anyway.

_Jerk._

Consequentially, neither of them were really making any traction on the whole,  _'I've kind of loved you since I first met you,'_  thing that they'd apparently both been guilty of since day one.

Christ, they were  _both_ hot for each other – like, since the dawn of time, basically! How perfect was that? This was  _his_  life? I mean really, this was a movie-worthy revelation. He'd spent the last bazillion years thinking the man could hardly stand him, let alone think of him fondly. And here they were, closet-piners for each other.

If he had to describe it, he figured the feeling was somewhere in the middle of: 'I want to suck on your eye teeth and fuck you right through your stupid fucking blackboard.' And: 'you are a glorious, frumpy asshat who I can legitimately see spending the rest of my life with' kind of feeling.

It was actually kind of overwhelming. He still wasn't sure if he should be freaking out or melting into a pile of happiness. Only they weren't doing  _any_  of those things. Instead, they were stuck in this awkward kind of holding pattern – only, you know,  _without_  the actual holding.

Honestly, he was kind of insulted that the man was ignoring how ridiculously perfect they were for each other. He knew why.  _He'd seen it_. Hello, he'd been in Hermann's head. But really, something had to give. They were basically the mechanized version of soul mates with all the perks and none of the pesky doubts. And yet, here they were,  _not boning_.

Life just wasn't fair.

Did he mention he got new Kaiju samples? Like a ton of them?

Because yeah, that's kinda important.


	3. Chapter 3

So, while Hermann was being impossible, stupid, pig-headed and insufferable, he was being uncertain, jumpy and probably a million other things that were just as bad. And frankly? Neither one of them was happy.

So, call it fate, an accident, the universe taking a pot-shot or a Kaiju-coated miracle, but somehow, while he was elbow-deep in a slab of not-quite-fresh Kaiju blubber babbling about bone density and mating behavior, he managed to find the single-most awesome yet completely terrifying super weapon no one knew the Kaiju even had.

Because when the thing under his fingers firmed rather than gushed like everything else, he yanked it clear out of the carcass and onto the examining table. He'd yelled, excited enough to tempt even Hermann away from his blackboards as he'd turned on his mag-light. They both really should have known better.

"Hermann! Get over here! You  _so_  need to see this!" he trilled, scrambling for the dissecting tray as the older man sighed, long-suffering, before shuffling over to see what the fuss was about.

"Newton, I hope you aren't planning to-" Hermann began; face pinched and tone bordering on imperious before he was cut off in mid-word. Which, not so coincidentally, was the same moment he poked the edge of the gland, a viscous purply-red lump about twice the size of his fist, with the edge of his scalpel and -  _boom._

For fuck's sakes, he'd barely even  _touched_ it!

He saw his life flash before his eyes as Hermann's mouth fishtailed, his face speckled with the same vibrant purple fluid that covered nearly his entire front. But the expression on the man's face  _wasn't_ anger; it wasn't even disgust or fury. No, it was much worse than that.

The gland quivered in his hands, leaking a thick trail of purply-red splooge all over the table as he looked up at his lab partner in horror.  _Shitsticks._

Surprise was first, childish and uncertain in the way it trickled down from his temples, deepening the frown lines around his mouth until the mathematician looked like a child freshly pulled from his mother's apron strings. Like someone who'd been left to face this unexpected hiccup utterly and completely  _alone_  as a good, quart-sized glob of the stuff oozed down his chest, staining his ugly sweater a vibrant coal-black.

It was the disappointment that had followed that'd been the real killer.  _Because aint that just a bitch?_ In fact, he wasn't sure what was worse, Hermann being disappointed in him or the fact that once again he'd skipped through all the red tape and forgotten the whole 'look before you leap part' of the scientific method.

_God, he was an idiot._

He stood there, dumbstruck, caught between a nervous giggle and outright panic before he was up and moving again. He tossed his gloves behind him and reached out - herding Hermann towards the chemical shower, the one the mechanics had managed to cram into the tiny storage room on Hermann's side of the lab.

"Shower, shower, shower," he chanted, nearly towing the man through the door by his elbows as Hermann yelped, the sound undignified, yet welcoming as he tried to tell himself that sometime down the road, they would be laughing about this over hot toddys and bad donuts as Hermann's fingers sunk deep into the meat of his shoulder blade.

"I _know_  Newton!" the man shouted, stumbling as his cane slipped on a wet patch. Hermann spluttered, gagging as he leaned up against the wall, letting him worry with the shower and chemical cycle as he spat out a mouthful of the stuff, fingers trembling as he wiped his chin.

He could practically  _taste_ the adrenaline.

He yanked on one of the knobs, praying to every deity he didn't believe in for this to work as the pipes clattered, clanking and groaning above their heads as water started spitting from the shower head.

The man looked like a reject from one of those Nickelodeon slime specials that aired as 'Reruns from Yesteryear' on the civilian live stream. Hermann's hair was plastered to his head, looking about as pleased as a wet cat as he ran a hand through it, slicking it back from his forehead in a vain attempt to keep the gunk out of his eyes. But it didn't matter. The damage was done. The purple gloop was still streaming down his clothes, speckling across the floor and collecting in the creases, leaving a sticky trail in their wake as he all but  _shoved_  the man under the spray.

But honestly, the only thing that registered was the fact that the man's words were worrisomely absent of their normal snap. Because this was different.  _Bad_. This was different from getting entrails in the coffee grinder or fucking around with Hermann's blackboards after an especially brutal all-nighter. This was like, category 'Fuck ton' Kaiju bad and they both knew it.

And it was  _all_ his fault.

They knew what Kaiju junk could do. They'd seen it eat right through metal alloy – the best Earth had to offer – like it was no more than tissue paper. Because if it could do that to Cherno Alpha-

He punched the sterilization protocol into the data pad with a bit more force than necessary. All but bouncing in place as the program slowly started to load. He double and triple checked the tanks. There was more than enough cleaning agent in them, why weren't they-

He didn't even have time to enjoy it as the layers came flying off, (which,  _god_ , it wasn't like he'd imagined this moment a million times before or anything) ignoring the occasional: "I am perfectly capable of undressing myself, Newton!" or "Ouch! Get your bloody elbow out of my eye, you imbecile!" in favor of dancing around the ring of dry tiles as Hermann leaned up against the wall for support, taking half his life just to fumble with the button of his trousers.

"Shut up, shut up!  _Oh my god! Just_   _shut up_!" he bugled, a human tornado of flying limbs and rolled up sleeves as he darted forward , tugging on the man's shirt buttons, trying to get him undressed before the chemical cycle loaded.

And naturally, just because fate could be a cold hearted bitch that way, the chemical cycle pinged, indicating it was ready to begin.

_Shit. Shit. Shit!_

The rest of Herman's buttons pinged off into empty space. The action drew a scandalized squawk from somewhere underneath the jumble of clothing as he tried and failed to yank the man's sweater, shirt  _and_ undershirt off at the same time.

Who even  _wore_ undershirts anymore, anyway?

Hermann seemed to catch onto his urgency though because a microsecond later his pants pooled around his ankles, revealing about a  _mile_  of creamy pale skin – all knobbly knees and colt-like thighs before he was kicking his pants away. The man's movements were unsteady as he hung onto the faucets for dear life, struggling out of his ruined shirt before he caught his eye through the rising steam.

It suddenly occurred to both him _and_  his dick that Hermann was standing in front of him in nothing but a soggy pair of truly heinous looking briefs and a whole shit ton of brand new skin to explore. It also, not so coincidentally, occurred to him that his libido had absolutely  _terrible_ timing.

_God this was so FUBAR._

He opened his mouth, ready to say something funny, something stupid or reassuring, anything to get that look – vulnerable and overwhelmed – off the man's face. But despite his good intentions he ended up getting distracted by the water droplets that were pearling off the man's stupidly long lashes.

"Yes, well, if you'll just-" Hermann began, sounding extraordinarily  _not_ calm as he flicked a hand towards him, clearly gesturing for him to get the hell out when the chemical cycle hissed – rattling around in the wall as the first gel pack mixed with the water and started hissing out the shower head.

"…I think its best you leave me to it-" the man finished weakly, clutching the tattered remnants of his shirt in front of him like a damsel protecting her virtue.

But he didn't move. He couldn't. Well, he  _could,_ but really, that was  _completely_  beside the point. The room smelled like chlorine, like old socks and rust. He could practically taste it, mineral-rich and heady as he breathed it in. The man's expression grew surprisingly speculative as the seconds dragged, tongue darting across his lower lip like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

And then, just because this was  _him,_ naturally he had to go and ruin it.

"Do you want me to stay and scrub your-" he asked, eye brows wriggling suggestively as Hermann's face went from speculative to emotionally constipated in less than two seconds flat.

"New- _ton!_ " Hermann screeched, sounding so much like his old self he actually laughed aloud, heart loosening a bit from the vice in his chest as he scuttled out of range of any flying objects.

_He was going to be alright. He had to be. Hermann was-_

"Fine dude! Going!  _Going!_ " he yelled, doing an about face the same moment Hermann showed him his back, letting what was left of his shirt slip from his fingers as he braced himself against the wall, ducking his head under the spray.

As soon as he was out of sight, he raced to the phone, practically vaulting over the counter, doing a series of awkward skips and jumps to avoid the trail of Kaiju goop that was already starting to drip-dry along the edges of the examination table.

He had to call...uh.  _Someone_.

 _Wait._  Who exactly did he call for something like this? Was this a general alarm? Or was it something more to do with containment and sanitation? Hell, he didn't even know if it was toxic. It didn't seem like it, but then again, he couldn't be sure.

The Shatterdome was running on a skeleton crew anyway, it'd been like that since they'd sealed the breach, so who exactly was he going to call?

' _Ghost busters!'_  his brain sing-songed unhelpfully.

He rolled his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek, fiddling with the receiver of the PA system. He puttered around unhappily, killing time as he tried to figure out what his next move should be - eventually having to come to terms with the fact that his brain had come up empty as he listened to the sound of water gurgling down the drain in the other room.

_plink-plink-plink._

He blinked.  _Wait, when had the shower turned off?_


	4. Chapter 4

He made a sound, a pitching not-quite whimper (thank you very much) in the back of his throat, when he turned around just in time to see Hermann exit the storage room in a billow of steam and far too much naked skin.

And, to make matters worse, (he did a double take just to be sure) but underneath a pair of truly heinous grand-dad underoos, the man was sporting a stiffy of generous proportions. His fingers twitched at his sides, jaw somewhere on the floor at his feet as he realized he was still gawping.

Hermann's pupils were dilated, that was what he noticed first – okay,  _second,_  he was human, so sue him. The tendons in his neck were standing out,  _straining,_  as a blanket of red flushed across his skin, trickling down from cheek to chest, kissing the man's pale skin like a full body blush that only  _deepened_  the longer the moment stretched.

He couldn't help but drink him in. The man was all lean lines and graceful arcs, thin and skinny like he'd expected, but not without tone, not without the muscle some might assume he lacked considering the large shirts and ill-fitting sweaters Hermann seemed to prefer. He had a wiry sort of build, uneven in the arms where the muscle had built up – dominant where he wielded his cane. But it only served to make him look that much more enticing, alluring even.

And oh shit, were those  _freckles_  on his breast bone?

_Christ, he was such a goner._

But the man didn't even seem to notice. Not him, the nakedness, none of it. Instead, he was looking around the lab with a strangely pleased expression, the faint upturn of his lips benevolent and indulgent as he squinted, trying to make out the equations on the blackboard. The hand holding his cane quivered, vibrating in place like some naughty child in the middle of a sugar rush.

"Hermann? Man? You okay?"

It was only when the man turned that he noticed his leg. And in spite of the panic, in spite of everything else that was going on, something in him just kinda  _stilled._ Guilt, of all things, rippled through him as he took it in, knowing it was wrong, knowing that it was somehow taking advantage even though Hermann seemed to be offering the sight freely. But he knew better, because despite having known each other for years, he'd  _never_  seen the man's leg. In fact, Hermann coveted the idea that he even  _had_ a problem jealously. He never talked about it, never  _ever_  mentioned it. He didn't even know how it had happened, if it was an accident or something he'd been born with, reversible or permanent.

_Not until the drift anyway._

It was only the length of time they'd worked together, and, well, the obvious that had enabled him to put two and two together. He knew how the man moved on both the bad days and the good. He could recognize the furtive bob of the Hermann's throat when he finally gave into the pain and shook out a couple of pills from the bottle he kept in the very back of his drawer. They were hidden in an old glasses case,  _disguised,_ like the entire thing was something _shameful_ , something that didn't deserve to see the light of day.

Honestly, he'd stayed out of it, respecting the man too much to ever bring it up or even pry when Hermann's limp turned into a hobble. Or when tension ticked in the side of his jaw, well on the way to giving himself a headache whenever he pushed himself too hard. Maybe he should have said something. Maybe Hermann was even waiting for it. But he never had.

Only now, he couldn't seem to stop himself from looking.

Because it  _was_ ugly.

But it was ugly  _and_  strangely beautiful all at the  _same_ time. And damn him to hell, if that didn't sound like some sort of metaphor.

The man's leg was a of mess of gossamer pale set against a knotted length of scar tissue that spanned from his upper thigh to well past his knee. It was thick and twisted, dotted with splotches of red and white – indications of both old and new incisions – like a mess of flowers in various stages of bloom.

Or maybe it was because it was just Hermann.

Either way, he figured he was equally fucked.

He nearly tripped over his feet as he took a quick step towards his lab partner, skidding on a patch of goo before his brain thought better of it. Something made him stop. He wasn't sure what, but whatever it was had his internal alarm bells  _screaming._

_Survivalist behaviour. A default mechanism meant to ensure a species-_

The phone went slack in his hand as Hermann pivoted, using his cane like a rudder as he wheeled around to face him. And the wrongness of it hit him like a hangover on a Monday morning. Because his movements were  _too_  easy, far too loose for someone who'd spent half of every day leaning on his cane like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

In fact, if he didn't know any better, it was almost like the dude couldn't even  _feel_ his leg. Perhaps the stuff had some sort of bonus side effect, other than, well - general creepiness. If he were a betting man (which he isn't, have you seen the economy lately?) he would guess there was something in the goop that acted as an analgesic or at least a numbing agent. He hadn't seen Hermann move this freely in  _years._

Jesus, Hannibal would have had a  _field day_  if he hadn't been turned into Kaiju kibble (which was still equal parts funny  _and_  horrifying, thank you very much). Just imagining the look on the man's face was priceless enough. To think that, underneath all the fake gimmicks, all the 'add 50 years to your life or penis-size' bone powder junk, they'd actually missed out on something  _real._

Hell, this could have world-wide implications. If they could figure out how synthesize it, it could revolutionize the whole concept of pain management. He'd be lying if he said the scientist in him  _wasn't_  piqued.

But Hermann, for his part, just stared bemusedly in his general direction. His head slightly cocked, like he'd never actually seen him before as he stood there, wavering in place. Other than that, the man was just kinda  _drip-drying_  across the metal floor. He tried not to stare,  _really,_ he did. He completely failed, obviously, but hey, at least he tried.

The man's skin was flushed pink, doing that red-glowy thing skin tends to do after a good old fashioned scrubbing. The man's hair, almost  _indecently_  ruffled, was standing up in wet spikes, adding a surprising amount of character to that stupid bowl-cut some barber had the gall to call a  _style_.

All in all, he was sold. The man had utterly no business being as ridiculously attractive as he was, and  _Christ_ he was  _so_ done.

He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to force himself to focus. But when he mashed the lenses back on his face, he actually noticed something. The man's expression was loose, easy and fluidic in a way that almost reminded him of-

"Dude, are you high?!" he blurted, caught between hysteria and laughter as his brain tried to do a million things at once, including eating his own words, because honestly, he was pretty sure, sometime in the last decade, he'd told Hermann to just go get baked.

Hermann's smile only grew wider.

He dropped the phone.


	5. Chapter 5

In retrospect, he could pick out the exact moment where everything changed, when that dopey, spaced-out smile suddenly sharpened. He could probably even put a time stamp on the moment when Hermann's expression had shifted,  _tunneled_. The man's focus suddenly warped, clicking into place like the whole 'insert slot a into tab b' thing his old engineering buddies from university used to crack jokes about.

He blinked.

 _Hermann didn't_.

"Dude, you okay?"

But if he was expecting a reply, he didn't get one. Instead, the man just fixed him with this look, an expression that could've honestly been anything from constipation to arousal. On Hermann it was hard to tell.

All he knew was that the man was looking around him,  _at him_ , speculatively - and that he was _still_  naked, lean, lithe and wiry in all the best ways. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say the man was looking at him like he was a particularly coy little equation that, up until now, had succeeded in eluding him.

Or, you know, whatever it was that got a mathematician's proverbial motor running.

Did he mention Hermann was  _still_ naked? Cause yeah,  _still_  not over that.

Hermann eyed him curiously,  _measuring,_  like he was the world's most exquisitely brewed cup of tea and Hermann was trying to figure out how best to enjoy him (a metaphor which, if you asked him, was both disturbing and stupidly hot at the same time.)

And honestly, he wouldn't have had a problem with it, except for the fact that the man's whole 'thousand yard stare'  _didn't_  have the same levity and obnoxious temper he was used to. Like when the man was in the middle of some scathing retort about the so-called 'soft sciences', Kaiju groupies or whatever it was that happened to be his gripe of the week. The passion seemed to be misplaced.

Because this  _wasn't_ Hermann - it  _was_ , but it  _wasn't_. And he didn't know which option was weirder. He could see Hermann in there, staring back at him. He could see it in the way he moved, in the curve of his jaw as the man clenched the muscles there – acting like he was five seconds away from either grinding his teeth or snapping at him. But at the same time, those dark, blown pupils were vacant. Not in the strictest sense of the word, but more like he was overwhelmed, caught in the grips of something he couldn't control.

And maybe, at the end of the day, that was brunt of it. He was used to seeing Hermann in control - in control of himself, his surroundings, his work. Every facet of his life had a schedule, a pattern, but this? This was…well,  _wild_.

And while he was all on board with the 'let's discover a new side of Hermann Gottlieb train', to put it bluntly, he kinda doubted that Hermann was going to appreciate it.

Hermann took a step forward.  _He_  took half a step back. The man's grin went feral, and really, he didn't foresee this ending well.

He started edging around the side of the room, one hand flailing blindly against the wall behind him, trying to find the emergency alarm. His brain, somewhat belatedly screamed bloody murder about toxins, stray erections and  _oh_ -

It was only then that everything suddenly fit together. The erection, the spaced out stare, the sudden focus, the decidedly un-Hermann-like behavior, the almost animalistic– oh crap.

_The man had been dosed with_ _equivalent of alien go-go juice!_

He might have fallen over laughing if he wasn't so concerned for  _both_ their virtues.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermann's cane hit the floor every other step -  _advancing_. The sound alone was sobering. In his mind's eye, a discovery channel re-run of a lion stalking a gazelle flashed – dredged up from that god awful semester of advanced bio-chem in senior year.

He swallowed,  _hard_.

The man was two meters from him when, in the back of his mind, the lion crouched, hindquarters flexing. Not so coincidentally, it was also the exact moment he started babbling.

"Hermann,  _dude_ , it's not like I'm not flattered!" he began, back-stepping around a splotch of purple goop, high tops skidding.

"And I mean, you _know_  I'm totally on board with the whole 'you and me' thing," he assured, stuttering on the vowels as he tried to keep him at an arm's length. Desperately trying not to notice how the man was still drip-drying across the floor, water droplets skimming off his skin like powdered steel down the side of a magnet - streamlined and mesmerizing.

"But, uh, buddy? I don't think now is the best time, considering, well, everything," he tried, darting around the examination table, deeking back and forth trying to keep at least something between them as the man's grin went feral,  _predatory_.

"I mean, please feel free to jump me when you regain all your faculties, but I just don't think now is the best time to get – well,  _freaky_ ," he concluded, feeling, for once, like he was the only adult in the room as he eyed the lab door longingly.

Hermann's lip curled, the precursor to a smile – or you know,  _a snarl_. The man's dick was tenting noticeably now, painfully hard. Up like a flagpole and twice as proud. He winced in sympathy even as he edged around the table, the stainless steel reflecting in the low light as the other man's hand came up, firming around the edge.

It was the only thing that was separating them – as Hermann caught his panicked gaze and held it.

_Oh fuc-_

Half a beat later, the man actually lunged, taking a hobbling-step forward, slamming the table against him in an effort to reach him. He missed by a millimeter, maybe less. So close that he actually felt the wind of it as Hermann's nails scraped, barely there and light around the curve of his shoulder.

"Not cool man!" he yelped startling backwards as Hermann steadied himself against the table, breathing hard as thin fingers and surprisingly wide palms spread out for balance.

"Oh god, would you stop looking at me like that?" he moaned, swerving as Hermann tried to follow him around the curve of the table. "I am not a steak!" he snapped as the mathematician called his bluff and darted around the table.

The man moved awkwardly, with a half limp that seemed to be more muscle memory than any real pain. Just fast enough to be unnerving as they seemed to reach a stalemate on either side of the examination table.

Something inside him twinged as Hermann trembled, anticipation, arousal, exertion, it didn't matter. The man's lean chest fluttered, all lightly defined muscles that were less surprising than he figured they'd be. Hermann had always eaten healthy, always kept himself fit, the alternative, with his injuries, was less then pleasant.

_He knew. He'd felt it. Hell, he'd experienced it himself through the drift. But-_

A neon blue light bulb went off in the back of his mind.

_Of course! Why didn't he think of that before!_

He let his grip on the table slacken, attention flowing inward as he tried to find him through their connection. There was a moment of peace before the stream of consciousness that still linked them together exploded outwards. A moment where everything fractured, falling apart and reforming from a thousand pieces of color. But unlike before, the echoes of the drift nearly took them both down before they could even start.

_Bitte… Bitte… Ich kann nicht-_

He clenched his teeth. The tangle of threads that existed in his mind, the bundle of washed out color and awkwardness that he'd come to identify as  _'Hermann'_ , were red. Memories, thoughts, impressions, every part of him was throbbing, desperate. His mind was churning, like the tell-tale t-hook to a forming super cell, like a hurricane ripping across the coast line, everything was moving, pulsing –  _pushing_.

He was an unstoppable force, he was numbers and equations and Hermann in the pilot's chair. Darkness pressed across the corners of his vision. But it was nothing more than oblivion making promises as instincts and desires that had no business being trapped in the human body in the first place,  _roared_. He was need and want, he was an intrusive thought, he was the voice in the back of your head that whispered:  _faster…faster_.

He was uncontrolled and seconds from making landfall as the-

_Newton. Newton, bitte!_

He ached.

_Ich brauche dich! Ich will das! Lassen Sie mich-_

He'd never needed anything so badly, so  _keenly_.

_Oh Gott! Bitte! Ich brauche… Ich brauche…_

He wrenched himself out of his head with a gasp, panting as Hermann ground up against him, leaking pre-cum through soaking briefs. Breathing desperately into the curve of his neck as his brain and his body tried to catch up – overloading on sensation as he tried to figure out when the man had even  _moved._

_Jesus shi-_

And while he wasn't sure if he'd gotten the answers he needed, his mind had pretty much been made up for him. Because he couldn't say no. He didn't know if it was a personal weakness, the fact that he  _knew_ Hermann wanted him – had _always_  wanted him - or the remnants of the drift, but he knew he couldn't walk away.

Hermann needed him.

Heat flushed up his collar as the man made a pitching, desperate sort of mewl into his collar, nearly unbalancing them both as Hermann did his best to all but  _crawl_ right into his skin. He hissed at the sensation as their dicks ground together, the friction alone enough to have him firming up against his zipper, pulse echoing in his ears as the man's nails sunk deep into his forearms.

He couldn't think. He needed.  _They needed._

Hell, he was all but _shaking_  with the vestiges of it and he just couldn't-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1) "Bitte… Bitte… Ich kann nicht-." – "Please… Please… I can't-."
> 
> 2) "Newton. Newton, bitte." – "Newton. Newton, please!"
> 
> 3) "Ich brauche dich! Ich will das! Lassen Sie mich-." – "I need you! I want this! Let me-"
> 
> 4) "Oh Gott! Bitte! Ich brauche… Ich brauche…" – "Oh god! Please! I need… I need…"


	7. Chapter 7

"Dude," he tried, voice rough-shod and just a bit wrecked, conscience getting the better of him as Hermann's hand trailed down the front of his shirt, all blunt nails and hot sweat as a smattering of droplets shivered down his skin.

Hermann ground his erection against his thigh, inhaling deeply as he buried his face into the curve of his neck -  _pheromones_.

"Whoa, um, dude? Hermann? Buddy? You're totally on my side of the lab!" he squeaked, losing track of the words, arms flailing as the older man backed him up against cold stainless steel. His voice pitched embarrassingly high as Hermann grinned, all sharp-toothed and ridiculously predatory despite the fact that he was still leaning on his cane, tottering every other step.

Hermann's hands were everywhere, curling around his shoulders, his arms, tangling in his hair, raking down his neck, fluttering down the curve of his chin, cupping his-

_Oh shit._

His head fell back, thudding almost comically hard against the rusty iron wall when Hermann's fingers curled around his length, stroking through his jeans as he tried to remember how that whole breathing thing worked. He stuttered through an inhale, sucking in air like it was going out of style – like  _Hermann_ was the only thing in a hundred mile radius that was miraculously pumping out that sweet, sweet O2.

"Hermann, I-"

Call him crazy, but this just wasn't how he'd pictured their first time. In fact, it was kind of the opposite really. Considering Hermann's – ah – sparse history and his well – not exactly unimpressive string of partners since college he'd figured he'd be the one steering, you know?

But Hermann was just grinding into him, one hand tugging at the button of his jeans, struggling to get the zipper down one handed as he laved down the curve of his nape, sucking at the vulnerable skin unrepentantly until he squirmed. He felt hyper-sensitive, _aware_ , all but thrumming with it as Hermann murmured approvingly. Wordless hums that were all base sounds and no vowels as his zipper parted and suddenly the man's fingers, –fever hot yet chilled – were curling around his length.

"Hermann, could you- oh- _oh god_. Crap, just-"

Hermann's hand firmed around his dick, all slick palms and just a smidge too tight, as the man mouthed words, kisses,  _hell_ , for all he knew  _equations_  into the dip of his collarbone.

He gasped into the man's mouth when Hermann added a twist, jacking him off with a sort of sloe-eyed focus that the man had only ever displayed when working on a particularly difficult algorithm and wow – really - he wasn't going to last  _at all_. It was just too good, too much, too-

The pipe dream that was his desire to last more than thirty seconds curled up into the fetal position and did a nose dive as Hermann's thumb swiped over the head, lips splitting in a predatory grin as he wheezed something – maybe words, maybe even the man's name before Hermann leaned in and did it  _again._

"Oh _fuck_  me…" he breathed.

Everything about this was about fifty shades of _not_  okay. But hey, he was adaptable, right? Biologically speaking, humanity had to-

_Sweet Jesus, did Hermann just growl?_

_Yep_.

Yes he did. 

 _Oh god._  

His cock twitched, serenely ignoring that fact that Hermann was nosing into him, all stuttering r's and vibrating vocal cords that had no business being as hot as it was. A doorknob dug into the back of his spine, grinding into the vertebra as Hermann's free hand flailed behind him, grinding his erection, hot and hard in the confines of his briefs, against his thigh – hissing at the friction.

It was around that point that he figured it was time to give as good as he was getting. Chalk it down to pride, lust, curiosity, or just good old fashioned desire, but he wanted more. He wanted to feel it – to  _watch_ as the man fell apart around him. He wanted-

Nerves, excitement, and the urge to just fucking  _do_ something got the better of him when his fingers dug deep into the man's hair, yanking Hermann's head up from where he was sucking a bruise into his skin and capturing his lips in a sloppy, off-kilter sort of the kiss. Teeth, lips and tongue clacked together, tangling as his hand snuck down, using the man's distraction to his advantage as his eased the man's briefs down his hips and gave his length, rock hard and leaking, a firm squeeze.

But Hermann didn't seem to mind. In fact, the man just fucking  _keened_.

And okay, so, _that_  was new.

Also, weird.

 _Hot_ , but weird.

It was the sort of weird that if Hermann remembered  _any_  of this later, he was going to _kill_ him all over again, kind of weird. In a lot of ways it was basically Hermann in a nutshell. Hot, weird, annoying, impossi-

His brain hiccuped in mid-thought as Hermann's hand firmed around his dick, one hand reaching down to cup his sack, rolling it. His eyes slammed closed, caught between pain and pleasure as the man's teeth grazed across his throat.

And wow, okay, so even if the man murdered him later?

_Worth it._


	8. Chapter 8

Discomfort spiked momentarily over arousal as the sharp corner of the wall dug into his spine. He tried to push back, shrugging his shoulders, trying to inch just a little bit more to the right. But the reaction on Hermann's end was immediate.

A strong  _hell no,_  in fact, as Hermann actually  _snarled_.

His free hand came up, defensive and open-palmed, slick with sweat and pre-cum as Hermann's teeth sunk deep into the vulnerable curve of his neck. He froze, twitching underneath his skin as his brain and dick fizzed and spat like exposed electrical wires.

"Ahh! Okay, Okay! I get it, big boy. You're the boss, the alpha or whatever," he agreed, tongue darting out to wet his lips as the man's fingers tightened in his hair, forcing him to bare his neck.

"Oh god, don't eat me. I know I'm delicious and whatever but-" he babbled, legitimately freaking the fuck out even as his prick did the impossible – throbbing hotly against his thigh, pressing up against his zipper in a way that made him want to-

But the teeth around his throat only  _tightened_.

"Or, you know, I can just shut up," he offered weakly.

The huff Hermann expelled into his nape was so familiar it hurt. Almost approving as he licked the shell of his ear contritely before burying his face back into his neck, soothing the mark with soft kisses and nuzzling licks.

_Christ._

He had no idea Herman would be so,  _well_ , you know. He'd seen it, the desires, the fantasies, the wants, the  _needs._  He knew Hermann. Hell, he knew him from the inside out. And yet, the man still managed to surprise him.

He licked his licks, disbelieving to a fault.

He'd be god damned if the man wasn't pushing buttons he didn't know he even had.

And stick up the ass or not, he had to admit he liked that.

The air above their heads was close - heady - humid with their combined breaths. He felt strangely aware, hyper-sensitive as seemingly every  _inch_ of the man ground into him. Hands, fingers, lips, hips, arms, it was all encompassing, overwhelming. The perfect mix of too much and not enough.

Hermann's fingers dug into his skin, raking down the jut of his collarbone as he traced the outline of his tattoos with his tongue, leaning into him for balance as his head thumped back against the wall. He was too far gone to care as his jeans pooled around his ankles, unable to muffle the moan that illicited as the man's hand dipped into his shorts, slick and fever-hot as he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to-

"Newton…" the man hummed, hot breaths gusting across the shell of his ear, chilling through the track of saliva he'd left as Hermann paused in the act of pressing open-mouthed kisses across the span of his collar bone.

He froze, mouth working as Hermann panted into the crook of his neck, hips grinding together – rough now – beyond desperate as his name left the man's lips like a mantra.

And really, there was just something about that which totally blew his mind. Because Hermann was so far gone he didn't even understand how  _pants_ worked anymore, and yet, he could still find it in him to say his name?

In all honesty, that was the last coherent thought he had. Because before he could really process it, Hermann had grabbed him by the lapels, his thin fingers deceptively strong as they crushed the wrinkled edge of his collar, fisting it in his grip for a long moment before he leaned backwards and _yanked._

He didn't know how else to describe it when his shirt ripped clean in two, fabric and buttons flying everywhere as Hermann's nostrils flared in triumph. He didn't have to. The image was ingrained in his brain, a full feature with living color as the man's smirk only widened, toothy and baser as Hermann's eyes flashed dark in the half light.

He blinked.

And okay,  _wow_ , he could seriously get on board with  _wherever_  Herman was planning on taking this.

_God, he was so easy._


End file.
